


Red Sky In The Morning

by Reis_Asher



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Beach Sex, Demons, Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb, Fallen Angels, Frottage, Hand Jobs, Kissing, M/M, Murder, Past Lives, Past Violence, Post-Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb, Season/Series 03, Soulmates, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-22
Updated: 2020-07-22
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:14:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25443760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Reis_Asher/pseuds/Reis_Asher
Summary: Upon killing Dolarhyde, Will Graham realizes this isn't the first or even the thousandth time he and Hannibal have killed together. Their crimes are written throughout the stories of history. They are two fallen angels bound together by a pact that survives death and rebirth, continuing in an endless spiral of bloodshed and misery.Will remembers now... and it feels like coming home.
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 2
Kudos: 114





	Red Sky In The Morning

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sure something like this has been done before, but I'm a sucker for Will and Hannibal as reluctant murder-soulmates.

Euphoria surged in Will’s veins as he plunged the knife into Dolarhyde’s torso. Warm blood sprayed onto his hands, soaking his shirt like crimson rain. The scent was all-too familiar, and Will wondered when the smell of blood and death had become common—even welcomed—by his subconscious. There was something routine about it, and he found comfort in that, as if this was just another scene he was investigating and not one of his own creation.

There was something else beneath the surface of his consciousness that Will struggled to put his finger on—a sense of deja vu, like he’d been here and done all this before. He'd killed, certainly, but not like this, not with premeditation and malicious intent. This was murder in the first degree, and it felt like coming home. 

Images flashed before his eyes. He saw himself standing in a muddy trench, a soldier falling from his arms, throat slit. Hannibal caught the corpse and took a bite like he was a famished animal starving for a snack. He caught a glimpse of himself eating an exquisite meal at Hannibal’s table, but the fine china and furniture was fashioned in another age. A gramophone played a classical music record as Hannibal and Will served human flesh to unwitting guests. Will saw European royals cowering in fear as Hannibal cornered them amongst the palace finery, his own prince Will coming in for the kill as they both smiled in conspiratorial delight.

He flashed back to the present. The Dragon fell to his knees, as all their victims fell, their crimes ranging from insignificant insults to slights against decency. Justice wasn’t their motive, but it was a good a reason as any to take joy in the kill. The world had fallen at their feet, and now here he stood again, remembering it all—who Will Graham truly was and had always been beneath the mask of sensitivity he presented to the world.

Hannibal helped him to his feet and Will clawed his way up the man’s body, looking into his eyes and truly recognizing Hannibal at last as the lover he'd known across centuries and lifetimes. Hannibal had finally reached him in this age, dragging him kicking and screaming out of the human suit society had forced him to wear.

Will’s timeless love for Hannibal was something he could not put into mere words, and so he rested his head on Hannibal’s shoulder, feeling his heart pump blood through his veins. They were one, Hannibal’s heartbeat his as well, Hannibal’s crimes his crimes, their crimes.

It wasn’t a cliff they stood on, but a mountain of corpses, stretching forwards and backwards in time. What more was there that Will could not remember? Had they truly been responsible for the worst acts of history? Cold horror gripped him. How many more would they kill? He could not stop this cycle they appeared to repeat in an endless loop, but he could prevent the deaths of those he’d come to care for in this life. It was too late to protect Abigail, but he could still save Alana, Jack, Molly, Walter, and everyone else who'd been touched by the servants of death. By this blood-soaked, immortal pact.

Will gripped Hannibal tightly and leaned off the cliff. A small act of defiance against fate, but it was the only way he could register his disdain. His last act in this life would be human. Not—not whatever he really was underneath it all. The monster tethered to Hannibal's soul by love of all things—a cruel joke on the universe if there ever was one. Perhaps this final act would serve as redemption and sever the connection tying him to Hannibal.

He hit the water and plunged beneath the surface. The force of the fall should have broken every bone in his body, but by some miracle it did not. Water filled Will's lungs, jerking him back to reality, and he realized if he didn’t swim, he would drown.

_Hannibal_. Where was Hannibal? Somewhere on the way down Will had lost his grip and Hannibal had slipped away. Will surfaced, gasping for breath, the sea foam turning red from the amount of blood in the water.

“Hannibal!” Will’s cry sounded desperate, even to himself. He heard himself scream Hannibal's name up and down the river of time, mourning the death of his lover in a thousand different ways. It was no less a loss to know they’d be reborn and reunited. They were nothing without one another, just shadows imitating life, waiting for their reunion, however brief. It was together where they served fate, and the thought Will might be cursed to live without the other half of him was entirely too much to bear. He wondered if he'd thrown away Hannibal's gift yet again.

He noticed a head bobbing above the surface of the sea and swam towards it. Hannibal was floating, but he wasn’t breathing. His face was ashen, and Will couldn’t find a pulse. He dragged Hannibal into the shallows, rising up on his feet to carry him onto the beach as if they’d been born from the sea itself. 

Will set Hannibal down on the wet sand and pressed his lips to Hannibal’s cold ones, forcing air into his lungs as he attempted CPR. Tears flowed down his cheeks at the thought of losing Hannibal, and he cursed himself for the impulse that had driven him to jump. There was no redemption for him. He _enjoyed_ killing. There could be no absolution for a sinner who intended to continue his rebellion against God’s law.

He pressed his hands down against Hannibal’s chest, begging for a sign, but Hannibal stayed resolutely still. Will let out a sob as he collapsed onto Hannibal’s chest, clutching his shirt in his fists.

Hannibal coughed. Will sat up at once and rolled Hannibal onto his side. Hannibal coughed up salt water onto the sand, and Will caressed his wet face with the back of his hand, thanking any deity that might be listening for granting Hannibal another chance.

“We’re not that easy to kill,” Hannibal croaked. 

“Is that so?” Will didn’t ask the obvious question about the nature of what they were. He didn’t need to. His memories told him enough. They were fallen angels, the same ones who’d rebelled against God. The stains of their deeds were written in blood across the history books.

Will blinked. It seemed surreal, but then, so did everything that had happened since he’d met Hannibal. “Are we guilty of crimes against humanity? Is every massacre and genocide in history ours to count among our sins?”

“You give us too much credit.” Hannibal reached up and cupped Will’s cheek. Will placed his hand over his. “Or too little. I am not so crass as to wipe out entire cultures, deprive the world of art and literature. We only punish and eat the rude, Will. That is our role as harbingers of the apocalypse.” 

Will exhaled a sigh of relief. He didn’t know what he would have done if Hannibal had told him they were responsible for all the evil in the world. There was a righteousness inside him that needed justification for his actions. Perhaps that made him a worse person than Hannibal, who knew exactly what he was and made no apology for it.

Hannibal sighed. “I was starting to believe you would not remember me in this lifetime. When encephalitis and memory regression failed to work, I feared you had lost yourself.”

That cast recent events in a new light. “Everything you did to me... You’re saying it was all to wake me up? To remind me?”

“Indeed.” Hannibal nodded. “From the moment I saw you, I knew who you were in this life. Now you know who you are, Will. Who we are.”

“You baked Marie Antoinette into a cake,” Will recalled, a shock laugh leaving his ribcage with a rattle.

“It was a fitting end.” Hannibal smirked. Wistfulness entered his gaze. He sat up and seized Will’s shoulders, throwing him down onto the sand with the strength of a man who didn’t have a bullet hole in his torso. Will yielded as Hannibal leaned down to kiss him for the first and millionth time, their mouths melding together, their bodies conforming to the shape of each other. Arousal pooled in the pit of Will’s belly, his hands clutching fistfuls of Hannibal’s sodden hair as he thrust his hips up against his lover.

Hannibal gasped. He straddled Will, unzipping his pants and pulling them down. Will’s cock sprang free and Hannibal wasted no time wrapping his fingers around it, pumping gently as Will gasped and threw his head back. Will whined as Hannibal released his hold to deal with his own unfortunate clothing, and Will groaned as Hannibal took them both in his first, jerking them off together.

Will hurt from his injuries, but his pain only intensified the pleasure of being touched by Hannibal. The friction of skin against skin, rough, hot, and desperate, made Will shiver, and the intense look in Hannibal’s eyes told him he needed this just as much as Will did—perhaps more.

Will almost laughed, shedding the skin of his lie like a snake as he inhaled the intoxicating scent of Hannibal, heady and masculine. They were slick with pre-ejaculate, Will aching to blow his load all over Hannibal in this final act of his becoming.

“Will.” It was Hannibal who came first, shuddering as he came undone. To those who didn’t know him well, he might have seemed unaffected, but to Will, he was like an open book, the twitching of his facial muscles betraying his lack of control as he came all over them both. The warm slick of Hannibal's come lubricating his motions drove Will over the edge. Will bit his lip as he came with a sharp cry, drawing blood. Hannibal licked it away, capturing Will’s lips like he might eat them. He sucked the blood from Will's lip until he’d had his fill, leaving it bruised and swollen.

Will floated back down to reality—whatever that was, now. He was wet, hurt, and they were officially on the run. He pulled his pants up and moved to stand, but Hannibal pulled him back down onto the sand.

“We need to go,” Will hissed. “Jack will know we’re not dead. He’s not stupid.”

“In a moment. Let me enjoy the sky, Will. Red sky in the morning, shepherd’s warning. A good day for your becoming. For us to hunt again, side by side, as we were meant to. Two fallen angels enclosed in each other’s blackened wings.”

Will lay back down on the sand, staring up at the breathtaking sky. “Angels don’t really have wings, you know. Or genitals.”

Hannibal raised an eyebrow. “Don’t they?” He stared off into the distance, and they listened to the waves crash upon the shore like they were the only people left in the world. Will rested his head on the sand as Hannibal lay beside him, a sense of peace washing over him. Perhaps this was the afterlife, and he’d shed his body when they’d fallen from the cliff after all. Some part of him had died so that this soul could live again, and it no longer mattered to him whether that death was metaphorical or literal.

He didn’t care where or who he was, so long as he could share his life with Hannibal. If their fate was to kill together for all time, then he gladly accepted it, glad to feel for once in his life like he finally belonged somewhere.


End file.
